Westward Ho'.....Lou, Part Three

 Unless you are much better at retaining information than I am, you need a refresher on the life and times of poor old Lou. I'm not going to go back to the first story but I'll copy and paste the last paragraph to the last story. (I had to re-read the whole tale to remember what and who I was writing about......SIGH...)

The next morning, with a vow to not spend another dollar frivolously, Lou packed up his meager collection of clothes, personal items, and one or two memory makers he had taken from his former home, and walked outside. He allowed himself one more Uber trip and chose downtown Fort Worth. He truly did not plan to become homeless but he was sure getting close to it. On the ride west to Fort Worth, Lou made the decision to be dropped off at the Greyhound bus station. He would choose a town that sounded good, buy a ticket, and wait for the bus to load up. Looking over at the bus schedule for something fairly cheap, he chose Graham, Texas. Only $49.00 one way. He walked up to the counter to find the next bus wasn’t leaving until 1 a.m. the next day. He decided to find something else and settled on a town called Alpine. A bus was heading out at 3 in the afternoon. Alpine sounded nice. It sounded almost refreshing. He bought the ticket without even asking which direction he was going. It didn’t really matter. It was a long bus ride away from Arlington and bad memories. He would have some time to really work out a plan as he rode the big bus to his new “home”.

Three o'clock finally arrived at the Fort Worth bus terminal and Lou awoke from a really good, and much needed nap, to the sound of "Final boarding for Alpine, Texas loading at platform two!" He jumped up grabbing his meager possessions and running to the bus. He got there just as the porter was beginning to close the doors on the luggage compartment. Whew! Could have easily missed my ride!

Lou boarded and settled in for the long ride to his new home. The bus wasn't full but there were more people going to Alpine than he thought. This was a good sign he had chosen his destination well. As the bus pulled out of the station and slowly made its way to the interstate Lou was excited to see where he was going. As the bus lumbered onto the interstate and headed west he was a bit confused. For some reason he thought that bus would be heading north. Alpine sounded like a northern town. If he had been thinking he would have known that since the name of the town had "Texas" attached to it, it didn't matter how far north he traveled. He wasn't going anywhere near the mountains. He was feeling kind of stupid but no one knew except him. He would just keep this little bit of information to himself and act like Alpine was just where he thought it was.....wherever that was. Now he felt like he was really on an adventure! "Where are ya headed son?" "Oh, I have no idea..wherever this bus goes I guess."

As the miles rolled along, Lou spent some time reviewing his rocky life since graduating from high school. Man, it seemed so long ago. It was really easy to mess up life by making dumb decisions. And dumb decisions were indeed made. First of all, he fell head over heels in love before even starting his second year of college. He knew then it was dumb but he just couldn't help himself. Next, he allowed Dana to start making decisions for him rather than use his head to reason things out. His grades started falling, his dad stopped paying Lou's tuition, he started to despise his little apartment that he had loved so much....all because Dana made fun of it.

If these mistakes weren't enough, he asked Dana to marry him while he was barely twenty years old! What was he thinking? She readily agreed and started planning a big wedding. Things were getting out of control for Lou but he was in love. Nothing else mattered. Dana was embarrassed her fiance worked at a grocery store so she talked her daddy into giving Lou a job at his car dealership. Lou had loved his job at Kroger but he figured he would enjoy selling cars even more. He felt a little uncomfortable taking the job, knowing he only had it because of Dana being a spoiled little rich girl. Then when Lou's parents started planning the rehearsal dinner at a local franchise style restaurant, Dana was mortified to the point her dad "insisted" on paying for the rehearsal dinner himself. This action, along with lots of little slights toward Lou's parents, caused a distance between Dana and his parents. They didn't feel welcome yet Lou didn't try to fix things. If Dana was happy, Lou was ecstatic. Eventually, after the wedding was over and dust had settled, Lou's parents stopped trying to have a relationship with the new couple....and Lou pretty much lost the family he grew up with. Sad story and Lou felt a huge lump in his throat as he reviewed this part of the past few years. He wondered if his folks would ever welcome him back. He didn't feel like pursuing that prospect quite yet, but someday...

Lou knew he had to take control of his life. He decided his first assignment to himself was to find a job. Well, actually he had to find a place to sleep and then he would find a job. He would take the first thing that came along even if it was digging ditches. When he knew he had a home, an income, and a sense of creating new roots, he would find a church. He hadn't been to church since his parents moved to Detroit. It didn't seem as important to Lou as it did to his mom but now he was beginning to think church might help. As these thoughts turned more spiritual, Lou discovered he missed the old comfort of church, singing the songs even though his voice was terrible, and praying....how did he get so far off track? Right then he stopped, lowered his head, and reintroduced himself to God. He confessed his wrongs, his stupidity, gullibility, and all the other "ity's" he could think of. He even teared up but he kept his face turned to the window so no one would see. After his "Amen", which included a promise to find a church even before he found a job, he felt a peace he hadn't had in several years. "Yep", Lou thought to himself, "You're finally getting this messed up life about as straight as this Interstate 20 we've been riding on for like...forever.

Lou started to enjoy his trip and the view outside after their last stop in Pecos. Leaving Pecos and the interstate, the bus driver took the exit for Highway 17 to the next stop, Fort Davis. "Low and behold, we are going to the mountains," Lou thought to himself. "They sure aren't the Rockies but man oh man, they are beautiful!" (Do you need quotation marks around thoughts? Just asking for a friend.) They were entering the Barrilla mountains after miles and miles of flat old Texas. They passed what was kindly posted as "Casket Mountain, elev. 6183 feet" just before a weird sound came from under the bus. More metallic sounds grew louder as the bus began to weave on the road. The driver was trying to make it to a wide spot in the road when a front suspension gave and the bus lurched to the right. Dropping off the paved road to soft sand on the shoulder caused the bus to teeter over a drop off before finally rolling over on the right side and sliding down the ridge. Luckily, a stand of mesquite trees stopped the slide and the bus came to rest on it's side, on the side of a small "mountain", in the bushes and mesquite trees... and a lot of dust.

Total silence was heard for a few moments, then the screaming and hollering started. No, it wasn't the little old ladies making the noise. It was Lou who had been sitting on the left side of the bus and fell into the seats and windows of the right side, hitting his head on glass and breaking his right femur. There were other injuries of course and passengers were struggling to get out of the wreckage, but no one seemed as damaged as Lou sounded. He had never experienced such pain. As the bus driver worked his way through the wreck giving aid and instructions, he was trying to get to Lou who evidently had a bad injury and wasn't moving...just screaming. Everyone who had already made it out of the bus was dialing 9-1-1, inundating the normally bored operator to near hysterics as she fielded calls while trying to contact emergency crews in Fort Davis. Fire trucks and ambulances arrived shortly and the passengers still in the bus were helped out. Bandages were applied, comforting words were said, and arrangements for hotel rooms were made all while the firemen tried to find a way to extract Lou from the bus without hurting that broken leg more. The fire chief, a man named Ken according to the name tag, got to Lou first and started to calm him down. With soothing words and gentle movements Lou was untangled and carried out of the bus and to a waiting ambulance. Fire chief Ken rode in the back of the ambulance because he had comforted Lou and calmed him down. His calm and quiet demeanor, along with a dry humor that kept Lou from more screaming, was more helpful than the knowledge he would soon be in a fully equipped emergency room....with real doctors!

A short time in the ER left the doctors knowing Lou needed to be taken by Care Flight back up to Abilene. Surgery was needed and Fort Davis didn't host an orthopedic surgeon. The helicopter ride was painless for a drugged up Lou. Unfortunately he didn't get to enjoy his first helicopter experience because he was so drugged up and he doesn't remember it to this day. Lou's parents had been notified of the accident and flew in to Abilene from Detroit as soon as they could get a flight. With a repaired femur, lots of painkillers, and the parents he had missed so much, Lou was feeling pretty good laying in his hospital bed. There was time for healing, physically and emotionally. His parents let him know how much he had been missed and how much love they had for him. All in all, this accident was turning into a blessing....oh, you know it wasn't. Accidents are never blessings. They are wake up calls occasionally and this one certainly turned out to be for Lou and his family. A mended relationship healed faster than a mended femur but Lou got the care and physical therapy he needed while still in Abilene.

During this time of healing, Lou discovered what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He was going to.......haha! Wait til the next episode to find out!

Grease Monkey......NOT!!

As I was growing up at 656 Elm Street in Hurst, Texas, I lived through many stressful situations. Take for example the distribution of dessert at a table of seven with eight servings of cherry pie. Will that last slice belong to me or will my dad insist on saving it for his lunch the following day? Looking back, I realize that was always a silly question. There was also the stress of maintaining my solid C- grade average over the long haul. Hard times indeed.....but the worst stress I ever suffered was that of helping my dad work on the car. Oh I wanted to help! Every time daddy raised the hood of whichever old car was sitting in the driveway, I was right there offering to help. Little did I know I should have made myself scarce when those opportunities arose. 

I was rocking along just fine in life with only the stress of not getting enough dessert or watching my grade point average drop another point or two. Why did I have to offer to help work on any of those old cars? Luckily for me, I was well-known as a klutz and possible slow learner....I know, it surprises me too. For a long time during those carefree days, my offers to help were answered with, "If you really want to help, stay out of the way!" A whole new level of stress began for me when the answer became, "Yeah, you can help. Hand me a three eighths box end." Whut? Let me ask you, if you were a ten year old who had never even peeked in a toolbox, would you know what a three eighths box end might be? My first stabs at grabbing the right tool were chuckled at because working on old cars was my dad's happy place. After a few failed attempts at choosing the right tool though, the comedy was over and I was told to go away. It took a long time to get another shot at helping with the mechanical work, which looked really fun and made my dad happy. Little did I know....

Being the inquisitive sort who was always searching for knowledge.....HAHAHA, please stop it! Okay, being the sort who desperately wanted to please his dad, I researched tools, their use, and their nomenclature. Naturally I approached my cousin, Mike. Mike's dad also loved working on old cars and surely Mike had already gone through this trial by fire of learning everything there was to know about tools. I called him and explained my situation. He did indeed know what a three eighths box end tool was and told me important details. It seems a three eighths box end was not a three eighths open end. He went on to tell me it was also not an adjustable (better known as a monkey wrench for some reason). WHAT is it? "Oh", Mike replied. "It's a wrench". Did everyone follow that? I didn't either. Mike admitted he too went into a major panic whenever his dad asked him to hand over a tool of any kind. He had learned the simple things like box end, open end, monkey, and channel locks but his dad started throwing things at him like, "Hand me that fifteen sixteen whoopydoo". No, there is no tool known as a whoopydoo but there may as well have been. Some of the things both Mike and I were asked to hand over were just as bizarre. If the request for that 'big monkey' came along for the first time would you have known what to grab? I didn't think so....but I knew for a lifetime after getting it wrong once.

I finally got to where I understood the odd names shade tree mechanics had for their tools but I still struggled with sizes. A request for a three eighths box end went from "what is he talking about?" to "good grief, which box end is it?" In my own defense we had not covered fractions in school yet....or maybe we had and I spent the time watching the pretty little birds playing in the trees. Once I did know fractions I still had trouble figuring out the specific box end or open end daddy wanted. I was just as apt to hand him a 5/8ths rather than a 3/8th...(notice how I switched over to fractions? I'm not that slow!). This lack of ability to judge sizes still haunts me today. I never could look at a nut or bolt and say with any certainty "that there is a 5/8ths hex nut....for sure". It got to where whenever I had to hand over a tool, I would have three or four more options in my other hand, just in case.

I treasure those memories of "helping" my dad work on things. I didn't learn much but some of the lessons stuck. I've managed to keep all my family's old wrecks running longer than they should. My brother Glenn soaked it up like a sponge. Even today he has several old and classic cars he maintains. He's also teaching his two grandsons everything he knows. He suspects the older one is actually learning while the younger one is dreaming of being a rock star but he hopes he can teach the blooming rock star how to at least keep the oil changed in his car. As for me, I tried to teach both of my sons everything I knew about keeping the old car in good shape. It didn't take long of course. I didn't have that much to tell them but neither of them seemed interested anyway. My oldest son Jamie even told me all he needed to have in his toolbox was a roll of quarters and a list of good mechanics. Fortunately they took their school work seriously and now each enjoy a successful career....AND a list of good mechanics. 

I still think of myself as a good shade tree mechanic. That's how I think, but I know I'm not. I still can't figure out what size tool I need to loosen or tighten a bolt or nut. When the leaders of the free world decided we should all convert to the metric system my problem was doubled. Fortunately, I've been successful enough that I bought myself a spiffy new toolbox called a roll-away. Whenever I decide to do something stupid, like my own repair to an ailing car, I can roll that shiny red toolbox right out there in the driveway and pick the wrong sized wrench to my hearts delight!

Once Upon A Time...

 Long, long ago when cities were just towns, towns were no more than villages, and villages were tiny hamlets, such was the hamlet of Freiburg, Germany. Freiburg was quaint and life was simple. Nestled into the southern border of the Black Forest where magic was known and mysteries flourished, Freiburg was made up of fewer than fifty stout citizens.

The hardworking folk of this little hamlet toiled throughout spring and summer growing the food they would survive on throughout the harsh winters. You would think they would be sad to see the cold weather leave because the sun and warmth brought work, work, work. But no, the citizens were always happy and never more so than when the first warm breezes began to blow across the fields.

Spring time also ushered in the very best day of the year for the people of Freiburg….Easter! Easter meant feasting and playing games, frolicing in the sunshine and dancing in the streets. Easter also meant Easter eggs. It’s not known if any other areas of the world had access to Easter eggs. Truth be told, Freiburg citizens didn’t know, or care whether there even were more people in the world. Freiburg was their home. It was where they were born and where they would die, but I digress.

The tradition on Easter was for the mystical rabbit from the Black Forest, Herr Peter Hare, to appear from the forest bringing brightly decorated eggs for all the children. Early on, this tradition inexpertly referred to Herr Hare as a cotton-tailed rabbit! Very odd indeed since this large rabbit-looking creature had no fluffy white tail. Nevertheless, the description stuck and Peter Hare decided to just live with the moniker. So each year, when the children of the hamlet began their chant, Herr Peter would come out of the forest bringing joy to everyone. The chant sung by the children went like this. “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail. Hippity hoppity Easter’s on its way!”

After one particularly bleak winter, in the wee hours of the thirteenth century, Easter seemed ever so important to everyone in Freiburg. Herr Peter knew this and wanted to make the celebration more special than normal. He made up hundreds of additional decorated eggs and loaded them up in his burlap bag. When he heard the chant from the children, he immediately started down the path to the edge of the forest, next to the meadow, next to the hamlet of Freiburg. He happily hopped along and just as he stepped out of the dark forest into the brilliant sunshine of the meadow to the sound of “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail. Hippity hoppity…” TRIP! Peter snagged his foot on an exposed tree root. With a crash, he fell to the ground, bumping his tender nose, and losing his grip on the large bag of goodies. The eggs flew out of the bag and went in every direction, all over the meadow, under bushes, behind trees, IN the trees, and many more in plain sight. Hundreds and hundreds of colorful eggs were scattered everywhere he looked.

Panicked as never before, Peter looked around and realized he would never find and collect all the eggs by himself so he rushed into the hamlet in search of help. As he ran down Main street, which was also the only street in the hamlet, he yelled, “Help me! Help me, before Easter is ruined! Everyone grab a basket and come help me find my Easter eggs!” Everyone who could walk, wobble, or scoot grabbed a basket and headed out to help with the hunt. The children were the most excited and pleased but the older people had a great time too. After an hour or so, every egg had been found. Some had found many, some had found few, but everyone had found joy on this special Easter day. As they gathered all the eggs together to give to Herr Peter, he laughed and said, “The eggs are for you! Would you rather I hand them out to you as usual or would you prefer to keep what you found?” A resounding “Keep them!” echoed throughout the hamlet, across the meadow, and into the forest.

So, that’s how the world began the wonderful tradition of hunting Easter eggs. Over the years, the hamlets became villages, the villages became towns, the towns became cities…but this wonderful tradition remains the same. And, let’s hope it always remains for all the children…and all the old people who still feel like children on Easter!

Hello Frank,

I hope this finds you and Irma doing okay. I wanted to tell you if possible, you might want to move up your plans a bit for coming out for a visit. It might already be getting kind of warm in July but if you could figure out a way to come right now I think y'all would be glad you did. This is the most beautiful time of year I'm finding out from the locals. The cactus is in bloom and wildflowers are growing like crazy. It's nice and warm during the day and gets pretty chilly at night. Perfect weather, which is something hard to find in Texas. If you can, come on out. If not, I understand. We'll still have some great places to go in July but we will need to pray for good air-conditioning. We'll take your car!!

I've settled in here pretty well. I met the neighbors down the road a while back and we've visited a bit. They even invited me down for steaks on the grill!  I don't know how well she cooks on anything else but that lady knows a thing or two about grilling steaks....and making banana pudding. Whooee, I ate well that night. I guess I'm going to need to get a grill again. When I sold my old one before moving I didn't think I would ever want to grill again. That must have been the depression talking. She cooked over mesquite which I've never done. I've always cooked with propane but not any more. I'm going to start picking up mesquite as I find it lying around.....and there is a lot of it around. I'll probably burn up the first few things I try to cook but I'm looking forward to trying it out.

The old Chevy gave up the ghost the other day. I was coming back from a run to Alpine and found myself sitting on the tailgate waving frantically at people passing by. It's amazing how many people start concentrating on the road when they see a person waving for help. They don't even try to slow down. A few good souls smiled and waved and then kept on going. Finally, a lady in a Cadillac threw on her brakes and backed up when she passed. I'll give you three guesses who the driver was and the first two don't count. You are correct sir! It was the widow lady I helped with her groceries when I first moved here. Why did it have to be her?! I had finally been cool enough on the phone that she had stopped calling. Now I feel obligated to return the favor of a much needed ride back to town. The wrecker service I called charged me an arm and a leg to haul the old beast (truck, not widow lady) home where it sits under my shade tree looking mighty sullen. It has been my only transportation since I moved so I guess I better consider replacing it. I'm renting a Jeep Wrangler right now and I think I might just buy one of those instead of another pickup. Who knows...

That ride back to town in the Cadillac would have been pleasant if I hadn't had to be so nice to the widow lady. I feel terrible saying that. She's been nothing but nice to me and I avoid her like the plague. I guess I'm afraid she's looking for another husband and I sure ain't looking for another wife! I'll go ahead and take her out to eat one night to pay her back for the ride but if she starts calling again I'll have to speak to her about it. I guess you could say "I'll have to be frank" with her....get it? Frank? Okay, so it was corny. I'm kind of out of practice. I'll work on that before y'all come out. HEY, why don't y'all come on out and we can go out to eat with widow lady....you know, I guess I better start using her name. Widow lady takes longer to write than Jo. Her name's Jo. Ew, that makes me feel like we're friends or something. 

Not much else to write about. If nothing else, Fort Davis is quiet and pretty slow moving compared to Hurst. I guess I'll end this before you get too bored. Oh yeah, I'm going to keep my old truck. I think I might try a restoration. I know that's probably a silly idea, especially since I sat out there on the side of the road not having a clue why it died on me. It's been a long time since I played like I was a gifted auto mechanic.

Take care. Give Irma a hug for me....and seriously, y'all think about coming on out. Protect me from old widow Jo!

Bert

Haltom City Revisited...

 I went out for breakfast with a few friends this morning. We decided to go to the Bluebonnet Cafe in Haltom City. If I can stay awake long enough I'll tell you a little bit about it. It's been around for twenty-nine years and I had never heard of it....of course I don't pay attention to most conversations so I could have easily missed it...everyone else in the group, and there were five old wornout coots in the group, knew about and had been there at least once over the years. I wasn't very hungry so I simply ordered a cup of coffee and biscuits with gravy. Normally that's a reasonable order if you aren't too hungry. The waitress carried out this huge platter of biscuits and a matching sized bowl of gravy. When I saw her coming I figured she was bringing the order for all of us at the table but no...she sat it down right in front of me. Two others had ordered the same so two more platters of biscuits with gravy came to the table. The two remaining guys had ordered a regular breakfast with eggs, bacon or sausage, toast and hash browns. I'm glad none of us ordered the "tall stack" of pancakes or we might still be there. The food was delicious but none of us could put a dent in our respective orders. There were lots of biscuits carried home for the wives. I don't think I'll be able to eat the rest of the day. 

Anyway, that's not what I chose to write about. The tale is about the ride over there. It was a true, dyed in the wool stroll down Memory Lane for all of us. We weren't reminiscing much until we passed the old Haltom City Theatre (the only theatre I was ever thrown out of twice, thank you old junior high buddy Harry). Seems like all of us started pointing and talking at the same time then. We had all spent time there growing up...well, maybe not Tom. He grew up somewhere else but the rest of us all had stories to tell about that old movie house. I remember daddy driving us over there from Hurst on Saturdays, dropping us off, then driving back over to pick us up. Don's memories included being dropped off at the theatre with a nickel for a giant Butterfinger candy bar and instructions to not leave the theatre until he was picked up. One day he and his brother watched the same movie four times before their parents picked them up. Daddy did this occasionally, especially if he and mama needed to do some Christmas shopping, but it wasn't a regular occurrence. 

My first trip to the Haltom Theatre was when I was seven or eight years old. Uncle Frog took my brother Glenn and me out for hamburgers at the Brown Trail drive-in and then on to Haltom City to see "The Bridge Over the River Kwai". Uncle Frog let each of us order a chocolate malt with our meals if we promised we would finish them! We both agreed that would be no problem. Now let me say that a 55-gallon drum of chocolate malt is a lot of ice cream for a five and seven year old to consume in one sitting...and each of us had one. We couldn't even carry them in one hand when they were handed to us. I gotta tell you, we both sucked on those things as fast as we could trying to finish them before we got to movies. We hadn't made much headway when we passed the Haltom City limits sign out on Hwy 183. I was sitting in the front seat with uncle Frog while Glenn was in the back. Frog looked over at me and said, "I hope you boys are about finished with those malts. If they aren't gone when we get to the movie, you're going to sit in the parking lot....all alone.....in the dark, until they're all gone." Our malt sucking went into overdrive and just before we got there I hit the bottom of mine and tossed the empty out the window. (Back then no one gave littering a second thought.) I heard the empty cup hit the road and it sounded just like an empty cup should sound....no noise. I announced my completion of the malt proudly and wished I could throw up. Less than a minute after I tossed my cup out, Glenn's window came down and he threw his out bragging he had finished too. Funny thing though, my cup throwing was uneventful. Glenn's sounded like a chocolate explosion going off. Malt hit the road but only after hitting uncle Frog's Pontiac and dripping down the side of it. I don't know how it happened unless Frog was puttering around real slow but when the cup hit the ground it had time to splash back up on the car's rear panel. The right side of that old Pontiac was covered and dripping chocolate malt when we parked at the theatre. Old uncle Frog didn't have too much to say about it. He was good that way...but he never took us out for hamburgers and chocolate malts again....ever!

That was only one of the fond memories of driving through Haltom City today. We were so busy pointing out landmarks it made me wish I could go back in time for just one day to experience some of those memories we all had. I won't tell stories about all of them but you might remember some of those memories we shared: 1) The Haltom City Theatre of course; 2) the Haltom Drive-in with the big bison painted on the front; 3) the Shetland Pony farm back behind where the old Farmer's Market was located...remember the ancient pick up trucks lined up with all kinds of fruits and vegetables?; 4) the Clown Burger; 5) the Holiday Skating Rink (the only skating rink I was ever thrown out of, thank you again Harry you old troublemaker); 6) the propane store with the old rocket standing in the parking lot (that old rocket is still standing there); 7) the Old South Pancake House; the original Birdville High School where Haltom City and Richland Hills produced their scholars back then; 8) and of course I had to point out where Debbie and I lived when we were first married... Bertha Lane down behind where the old Mitchell's Department store stood. 

These were my memories, sparked as we drove through town. Each one of us had our own stories to tell and I won't steal any of their good times. They can tell the stories if they want you to hear them. I'll even give them the blog space but I doubt they'll take me up on it. They all seem to still have active lives while all I have is this old laptop and lots of memories. I wouldn't trade with any of them!

Lou Two...

 Lou stood in the courtyard of the student union building at UTA contemplating life…well, his life anyway. It was a cold, windy and overcast day, which matched his mood perfectly. He had come to this courtyard hoping the location would help him figure out exactly what happened to cause his life to become so unraveled. This spot had been one of his favorite haunts when he had been a happy, carefree college freshman here. He loved the life he had created for himself after finding out his family was moving out of state during his first semester in college. It had been a real challenge convincing his parents he was old enough to take care of himself if they would just let him stay in Texas to go to school. Finally, his dad agreed with the stipulation of keeping his GPA where it was supposed to be and finding a part time job to pay for his living expenses.

That first year of college was wonderful. Lou had no trouble keeping his GPA on target even though he had to snag a job at the local Kroger grocery store to pay for his tiny apartment and other expenses. The freedom he felt and the pride he had in his ability to handle that freedom made every day a good day. Good friends, good school, good job, dismal yet acceptable apartment, made life all Lou had imagined. 

In May, after his freshman year was wrapped up, Lou spent  a couple of weeks visiting his family in Detroit, He came back to Texas secure in his knowledge his tuition was covered for his fall semester at UTA. He had worried his parents would say, “That’s enough! You’re moving back in with us!” His grades were so good though his parents didn’t want to mess with perfection! He planned to work as many hours as possible during the summer to build up his savings to cover his living expenses. It wasn’t a problem because he loved his job and had made many new friends, both at Kroger and at UTA.

In early August Lou was invited to a “back to school” party hosted by an upperclassman. Lou was surprised at the invitation since he didn’t really know this guy that well. In fact, he didn’t know him well enough to know about the little sister who had discovered Lou while stopping off for milk at the Kroger one afternoon. It was her insistence that Lou get that invitation and get it he did. Little sister, an eighteen year old beauty named Dana, was the typical baby girl of the wealthy family. She was spoiled by adoring parents and older brother and typically got what she wanted.

I gave a pretty good background on Dana in the last story so I won’t go into it again. I’ll just say Dana wanted Lou completely to herself. She didn’t like sharing him with his job, his school work, or even his friends. Lou didn’t seem to mind this arrangement but his grades started to drop pretty quickly into his second year at the university. Things would have to change or Lou was going to be in trouble with the dean, and even more importantly, in trouble with his parents. 

I guess I’ve spent too much time reviewing and not enough time telling about the important stuff. As I mentioned in the first story, Lou was a twenty-five year old recently divorced man with no job, no home, and no plan. He was feeling completely lost as he sat on a cold bench in the UTA courtyard. He thought about the mistakes he had made over the past six or seven years. He had lost his wife because she no longer found him “fun and mysterious”. He had lost his relationship with his family because they didn’t approve of the way Dana treated him and he wouldn’t listen to them. He lost his home because well, it wasn’t his. It belonged to Dana’s parents and had been a gift to her when she and Lou married. He lost his job because he had foolishly thought he was accepted by his father-in-law as the brilliant young entrepreneur he tried to be. As soon as Dana got tired of Lou, Lou was let go from the car dealership her father owned. It seems Lou wasn’t as good a car salesman as he had been led to believe. When he lost his job he also lost his transportation. He lost everything and the only positive thing he could think was that he no longer had to deal with the foolishness he felt for dropping out of college to make a fortune selling cars for an unappreciative father-in-law. Had it not been for the $10,000 check the family gave him “to go away” he would be completely destitute.

Well, enough pity party. Some decisions had to be made, and made fast. He called the Uber service he had used to drop him off at the campus and requested a ride back to the dingy “weekly stay” hotel he had rented. He had to decide on an immediate start…somewhere! His “severance package” wasn’t going to last long if he didn’t get out of that hotel and find a job. Trouble was, he didn’t want to come back to his old life. He no longer had any of his old co-workers still hanging around at Kroger’s. They had all moved on with their lives. Although Kroger did offer him work, he would be starting at the bottom again with all new people. He couldn’t talk himself into it. He also didn’t want to go back to school for two reasons. First of all, he couldn’t afford it and secondly, everyone walking past him all day were kids. They were all carefree, laughing and joking kids. He felt like an old man around them. He needed to get away. He promised himself one more really good meal tonight, a good rest at the hotel, and then ACTION! 

The next morning, with a vow to not spend another dollar frivolously, Lou packed up his meager collection of clothes, personal items, and one or two memory makers he had taken from his former home, and walked outside. He allowed himself one more Uber trip and chose downtown Fort Worth. He truly did not plan to become homeless but he was sure getting close to it. On the ride west to Fort Worth, Lou made the decision to be dropped off at the Greyhound bus station. He would choose a town that sounded good, buy a ticket, and wait for the bus to load up. Looking over at the bus schedule for something fairly cheap, he chose Graham, Texas. Only $49.00 one way. He walked up to the counter to find the next bus wasn’t leaving until 1 a.m. the next day. He decided to find something else and settled on a town called Alpine. A bus was heading out at 3 in the afternoon. Alpine sounded nice. It sounded almost refreshing. He bought the ticket without even asking which direction he was going. It didn’t really matter. It was a long bus ride away from Arlington and bad memories. He would have some time to really work out a plan as he rode the big bus to his new “home”.

Note. There will be another installment of Lou’s story beginning as he stepped onto that bus to Alpine, Texas. How will he react when he discovers he has chosen a town not nearly the resort mountain town he envisioned but a little town basically devoid of trees and surrounded by desert! This story and those that follow are dedicated to my sister Julie Myers. She is the only one to express disappointment with my decision to stop the Bert and Lou stories. Thank you Julie! I love you too!!

Instant replay....

I've been trying to decide what direction this blog is going next. I've been working on stories about my new imaginary characters and got some shocking news about them just yesterday. Debbie told me, as gently as possible, that no one was really interested in old Bert....or Lou....or Frank. People read my stories because I write about growing up in a wonderful era. Lot's of memories have been struck over the years due to my stories and that's what I should stick with....so, Bert, Lou, Frank, and the fat lady at the grocery store in Fort Davis, Texas have all met with their untimely and respected demise. A moment of silence would be appreciated by all at this point.....okay, that's long enough. In an effort to get back on target I decided to go back and read some of my earlier stories....I've got to say, that's some darn good writing for an unlearned soul such as myself. I went all the way back to the first story I told on this blog to try to re-focus. While I work on my reboot I hope you'll enjoy reading this first story one more time.

..................

My little brother, Glenn, was always around. Sometimes it was nice and sometimes I longed for a few minutes to myself. Five kids growing up in a house with less than 900 square feet made it hard to find any time for ourselves. Oh sure, you could hide in the workshop for a few minutes but eventually you would be discovered by one of the others seeking solitude. They would go back inside and tell Momma you were hiding in the workshop studying the lingerie section of the Sears catalog. You would be hauled out by your ear while the tattling sibling slipped into the workshop. Anyway, as I was saying, Glenn was always around.

Glenn was (and still is) one of those guys everyone loves. He was funny, mischievous, and 'cute' according to Mama and a few of the little girls in the neighborhood. All I could see was this little guy who wet his pants a lot and sucked on a bottle until he was old enough to play football with us. As we grew older and discovered girls, cars, and general teenage good times, Glenn and I had less and less in common. He had his friends. I had mine. By the time I was in college I didn't feel like I knew Glenn all that well. When he got into college he let his hair grow and started on an impressive set of sideburns. He became a hippy. He wasn't a very good hippy though because he was raised with morals, a disgust for tobacco, and strict adherence to an alcohol free body. He wore the sandals, sloppy jeans and tee shirts. I think he had a couple sets of beads and he flashed the peace sign to anyone who made eye contact with him.

While the world watched thousands of young men shipping off to Vietnam, Glenn and I enjoyed the relative safety of the college deferment. We wanted to serve our country of course but we did not want to get shot.....of course. We figured the longer we stayed in college the better the chances that particular war would end and we could serve as officers in a good old peacetime army. My world evolved into a marriage and two little kids before the war was over. Glenn's turned into a marriage and a job he hated. We both felt guilt for not serving our country but we had obligations now. People to care for....One day while Glenn was working a co-worker got seriously hurt. Glenn watched the drama unfold and without another word stood up, walked out, and never looked back. He went straight to the Air Force recruiting office and signed up. Glenn's hippy days were over.

The Air Force transformed Glenn on the outside into the man he already was on the inside. I won't go into detail about Glenn's military career....after all, he may decide to blog one of these days. I will simply say Glenn spent most of his adult life serving our country in various parts of the world. He took his family with him and they all gained educations in life unavailable to those of us who remained stationary all our lives.

After his retirement, Glenn started his new career in education. He had hoped to work in a high school setting but the only opening he could find in his small district was for a second grade teacher. Oh well, it was a foot in the door. He discovered quickly how much these little students needed a daddy figure in their precious lives. As much as he wanted to move on up to the high school, his heart was captured by the little ones. He still teaches second grade today even though he swears each year, "this is the last time I'm doing it"! He is a wonderful teacher and takes his role of educator to young minds very seriously.

I am so glad I have had the chance to be the big brother to Glenn. I am very proud of him, his achievements, and especially his selfless life. It's my prayer his golden years will truly be golden.

Another meaningless memory....

 ....happened about the same time my wonderful uncle Frog was teaching me and my cousin Mike to smoke. We were four. We got spanked but Frog managed to get out the door before my mama could catch him. Anyway, it was about this same time our backyard neighbor on Calloway Drive invited mama, Cindy, me, and I guess Glenn, though he was a little thing and easy to forget back then....anyway, these neighbors raised huntin' dogs. In most parts of the world they would be "bird dogs", in Louisiana "coon dogs", but in Texas they're called HUNTIN' dogs. These dogs were valuable and required lots of attention and exercise to keep them in shape to bring in the best price. I don't remember these neighbors' name but the guy had to go out of town on business and left his wife to care for the dogs. She was a little, scrawny young bride and had fits with those dogs. 

One day she had a brilliant idea. On a hot afternoon, rather than leash all these dogs  to let them run along a dirt road behind the house, she would put an open can of dog food on the back bumper of their brand new 1954 Ford and drive off. The dogs would run after the food and get the exercise they needed without her having to work up a sweat. She asked if we wanted to ride along with her. It looked like it was going to be a great adventure. Cindy and I...and I guess Glenn, though I don't remember him being there, sat in the back seat to watch the dogs while skinny neighbor lady (I'll call her "Ms Skinny") and mama sat in the front seat gossiping. We were having a grand old time until tragedy struck.

Ms Skinny wasn't watching the road and managed to hit a huge pot hole in the road. The front left tire hit that hole and shook the whole car causing that opened can of dog food to fall off the bumper and onto the dusty road. It was a bloody, horrible, nightmare causing scene. Those dogs raced for that can as fast as they could. The runt of the litter was the unfortunate winner of the race and dug her nose into the can as the bigger dogs caught up and decided to take charge. It's important at this point to remember that these dogs were ready to sell. They had spent time growing, graduating from huntin' dog school, and putting on height and weight...so the phrase "runt of the litter" should be taken with a grain of salt. These dogs attacked that runt and tore into her. It was a brutal thing to witness. By the time Ms Skinny got stopped those dogs were in no mood to be disciplined by that tiny woman. My mama ran back with her even though she was scared to death of dogs. Together they wrestled the runt away from the bigger dogs and carried her to the car. The poor thing was torn up and bleeding bad. Ms Skinny didn't want to put her in the car because, after all, that car was brand new. It was too far to walk home carrying the dog so she decided to put her on the trunk lid...no rope, no leash, just bloody dog trying to hold on. It wasn't a long drive but that poor dog hadn't mastered the art of trunk lid riding and she was slipping all over that Ford's trunk lid. Cindy and I tried to tell Ms Skinny the dog was making a terrible mess on that trunk but she yelled back that she would wash it before Mr Skinny got home from his trip. 

Cindy and I should have given a better description of "terrible mess" I reckon because what we watched was one bleeding dog scraping and scratching like crazy to not fall off while the rest of the dogs ran behind jumping up on the back of the trunk and bumper trying to get another bite in on the loser. It wasn't a pretty sight. The back of that new Ford was destroyed. I felt sorry for Ms Skinny but felt worse for that dog. She was so scarred up by the time the vet got through with her there was no way she would ever be worth selling. I don't know what became of that poor dog but I bet wherever she is, she's still telling her grandkids about that fateful day    

Bert Catches Up...

 Hi Frank,

I figured I owed you an update on life in Fort Davis. I haven't run into any more rattlesnakes but one big old bullsnake took a few years off my life when I stepped on him out by the garage. The rule is "you leave bullsnakes alone because they eat rats". Well I'm here to tell you I left that snake alone because it nearly scared the pee, waddle, and doo out of me. He slithered off on his own eventually. I don't know if I'm going to be real comfortable out here if I see many more snakes. You know I hate snakes! At least that monster tarantula hasn't been around anymore. 

I finally got all my stuff delivered from UPS. It cost me a small fortune to get everything delivered that I couldn't fit into that old Chevy pickup. I feel like I've finally settled into my new "home" now. I even tried my hand at cooking myself a meal last night. More about that later.

I made my first run to the grocery store this week. It's a little bit easier buying for just one....depressing and all but at least I got two years experience shopping while I was caring for Velma. I did my shopping at the Stone Village Market. It sure wasn't a Super Walmart but I found everything I thought I needed. Nice people at the store...friendly and helpful but I will have some fear the next time I go there. As soon as I got there and picked up a cart I noticed an elderly lady struggling with her heavy cart. I offered to help her get her groceries to the car and I think she thought more of it than I intended. She is evidently one of the wealthy widows in town. Her car was a sleek, new black Cadillac. There wasn't a spot of dust on it so I assume she could afford for someone to keep it clean for her. I've found it impossible to keep dust off my truck. Anyway, I pushed her cart for her and then put all the bags in the trunk of the car. She stood by constantly thanking me, like it was a real treat to have someone help her like that. I think she fell in love with me right there in the parking lot. Before I could get away from her I had to turn down a five dollar tip, suffer through an uncomfortable hug, and a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she told me she wanted to have me over for dinner sometime soon. I may have to move to Marfa! 

I got home from the store and it was already getting dark. I didn't really want to go out to eat dinner again because to tell the truth, I'm putting on a few pounds already. I decided to cook up my Sunday night special I used to make for Velma and me. I opened up a can of tomato soup and got it going then heated up an old cast iron frying pan I found in the pantry. (Someone is probably wondering what happened to their prized frying pan.) This kitchen isn't anything like what we had back home. It's laid out all wrong for me but I reckon I'll get used to it. I didn't pack a lot of Velma's kitchen stuff. Most of it sold in my moving sale but I did keep one long-handled ladle. I had it resting in the soup pot while I got my grilled cheese put together. I remembered I needed to stir that soup and reached over to the ladle. That ladle was closer than I realized and I hit that handle causing a whole ladle filled with hot tomato soup to fly out of the pot, on to the floor....and the cabinet door...and my shirt and jeans. I even found some on my socks.  I got the mess all cleaned up and grilled my sandwich without burning it. When I went to get a plate for the sandwich I hit that cotton-picking ladle handle again and had a repeat performance of the evening's entertainment. I couldn't believe I did that. I sat down and ate my sandwich with a few Fritos, cleaned up the mess...and myself again, and tossed that long-handled ladle in the trash. I hope there's a Dollar Store here in town cause that was my only kitchen utensil. I had to toast the grilled cheese using my pocketknife.....and had I successfully heated up a pot of tomato soup I would have discovered I also didn't have a spoon....or soup bowl. I guess I better make up another shopping list and get some basics bought before I try to cook again. I don't think I'm going to like cooking on a regular basis. I'm glad the cafe is close and open seven days a week. 

It's kind of depressing rereading this before sending it. It hasn't been a stellar week for me. I'll write again soon...when I might actually have something to write about. I hope you and Irma are well. I would sure like to have a visit whenever you can get away....just let me know you're coming and I'll buy an extra can of soup! Ha

Y'all take care, Bert

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Note from the editor: I told Russell it was okay, and not entirely crazy, to have imaginary friends but to not get too carried away with stories about them. I said, "your readers didn't start reading your stories because they were imagined. You need to stay true to your roots and include a story about your past on a regular basis so you won't lose anyone." He thanked me for my insight and wisdom and said we'd go out for Mexican food tonight!! Yay!!

Bert, Frank, and Lou

 I was a bit surprised, but very appreciative of the positive responses to my last story. I really didn't think anyone would be too interested in my imaginary friends. I figured they would remain hidden in my messy assortment of notes stuffed into the top left drawer of my desk. If you really want to know, I'll first give a quick update on Bert. If you remember, Bert recently moved to Fort Davis, Texas from his home in Fort Worth, Texas. His decision to move was prompted by the death of his beloved wife, Velma. He couldn't stay in their home after she passed so he sold out, moved to a little town in West Texas he had only visited once, but immediately fell in love with the town, the area, and the whole idea of small town life. His letters back home to his best friend and former neighbor, Frank, make up the basis of stories about him. Nothing much of interest has happened for Bert in the past two weeks. He's been busy setting up utilities, emptying all the moving boxes, and of course finding the best place to go for breakfast. He promises himself he will send a note to Frank as soon as the dust settles...especially so he can tell him about his first trip to the grocery store.

Today I want to introduce you to a young man named Lou. Lou is twenty-five, single (again), and at a dead-end path concerning his future. He seems all alone in the world because, well, he is alone in the world. 

Lou never thought his life would take such a sour turn as he was growing up. He had wonderful parents, one brother and two sisters, a plan to become an electrical engineer after college, and lots of anticipation for a full life. When it came time to start college, Lou enrolled at the University of Texas as Arlington. The campus was close to home and several of his friends were going there. Things started to unravel for Lou toward the end of his freshman year though. His dad was offered an opportunity to move up the corporate ladder with his company, but only if he would relocate to Detroit. Lou's dad grabbed the chance to make more money and told the family to get ready to move. His sales pitch to Lou was, "Hey man, Ann Arbor is really close to Detroit. In fact, we might even choose to live there. You can transfer to the University of Michigan to start your second year of school. You'll love it!" Despite this sales pitch, Lou wasn't interested in leaving Texas. He bargained with his dad to stay behind to finish school by finding a small apartment close to campus and paying less to stay at UTA. He even proposed he would be willing to pay his own living expenses, rent included, if he could just stay in Texas. You could have knocked him over with a feather when his dad agreed. The only stipulation was if getting a job to cover living expenses caused his GPA to drop by even a point, he would be moving to Detroit with the family.

Lou loved his family but he was really excited to be getting his own place. He quickly found a job at a Kroger grocery store and signed a lease for a tiny loft in an older apartment building close to UTA. His parents left for Detroit after selling the house Lou grew up in and Lou moved into the little closet he would now call home. It seems like all was well for the whole family and Lou never looked back with regrets. He liked his job at the grocery store because he worked nights and had plenty of time for his classes and study. He kept his GPA right where it should be after the second semester and enrolled for a full load the following fall semester. 

Life was good....well, things were actually better than good. During the summer Lou was invited to a party thrown by one of the older students. It so happened that a certain baby sister of said older student had been instrumental in getting Lou to the party. She had met Lou at the Kroger while shopping and immediately "fell in love". Her name was Dana. She was eighteen, kind of tall but drop dead gorgeous with her stylish outfits, brilliant red hair and flawless complexion. I'll note here that the description I gave was from Lou. I never actually met the girl. Dana quickly became Lou's downfall in college. Her parents were loaded and Dana was the very spoiled little sister. It didn't take long before Lou was spending more time with Dana than he spent studying, working, and even sleeping. He was smitten!

As the fall semester began, Lou told Dana he had to concentrate on keeping his GPA where it was supposed to be. She either didn't quite understand the situation or really didn't care. She kept trying to keep Lou all to herself and a nineteen year old boy is going to opt for girl over grades...every time. It didn't take long before Lou realized he was in trouble. He had to get busy and bring his grades back up. Dana still didn't back off. She was going to a local junior college because, "Daddy said I have to go to college. I don't know why because I don't plan to ever work!" Her twelve hours of freshman classes weren't hard to keep up with and she didn't think Lou's eighteen hours should take any longer. Oh, and she hated the idea of her boyfriend working as a clerk at a grocery store. She also hated the ancient loft Lou called home. After just one semester Lou had to tell his dad he had blown the GPA. He also had to tell Dana he would be leaving for Detroit after he completed his sophomore year.  

This isn't the end of Lou's story. It's only the beginning. To find out what really broke Lou, you are invited to "stay tuned" for the next episode. 

Oh Baby, It's Cold Outside...

... ten degrees to be exact. If I had wanted to experience ten degree weather I would have caught a flight to my cousin, Kitty's farm in North Dakota. Sorry Kitty, I love you, miss you, and all, but I don't want to see you that bad. I've been up since five o'clock. This has been happening more and more lately and to be honest I'm kind of tired of this new trend as well. Up at five to look out and see the snow on the ground and the mercury so low I can't see it on my patio Coca' Cola thermometer makes me a bit angry. I have done all my Bible reading, polished off a pot of coffee, ate two fried eggs and cleaned up my mess, and I'm sitting here wondering what else to do with my time. Debbie is smart. She's still in that nice warm bed sleeping deeply and probably dreaming of the two of us romping along a sunny beach somewhere. Or maybe it's just her romping because I haven't been able to romp since I broke my leg ten years ago. I have nothing of importance to do today. It's way too cold to work in my shop. I've already got my income tax info ready and I've finished ten more books off my "to read" stack recently so I'm tired of reading. What to do? What to do? Oh! I know! I'll bore all of you to death for a bit. 

You may not believe this about someone as intellectual as me but I have two imaginary friends. One of them is an old guy like me and he's just recently been left a widower.  His name is Bert. Bert also has an imaginary friend named Frank. I make up stories about Bert and then Bert writes to his friend and old neighbor, Frank. Frank gets a kick out of Bert's letters because that old Bert does have a witty way about him, even with his recent tragic loss.

My other imaginary friend is a young guy. Single and just starting out in life away from his foster home, he's struggling with what to do with his newfound freedom. His name is Lou. Lou is just eighteen and not really a friend. He's too young to develop a friendship with an old toot like me but he needs me to create his story...poor guy. He's going to lead a boring life if he's depending on me. 

I created Bert about two years ago and added his friend Frank at the same time. I don't know much about Frank. I just read the letters Bert writes to him. Lou is new to my weary brain. I'm still struggling with his direction in life so enough about him for now. I did just read a short letter from Bert and I'll pass it along if you're interested:

Dear Frank,

I sure do miss the old neighborhood and our weekly visits for coffee and cigars out in your workshop. I wish I hadn't felt the need to get away but after Velma's passing the house was too empty and filled with too many memories of her last days. I know she isn't suffering anymore and that gives me comfort but I'm not sure this void left in my life will ever be filled.

I did make it out to Fort Davis without any car trouble. I wasn't sure that old pickup would make it without leaving me stranded at least once but it did okay! I've rented a little place a little ways out of town that has a detached two-car garage. I'm hoping to use the garage for a workshop and maybe find an old car to restore. Velma never wanted me to have an old junk car sitting in the driveway so I guess now's the time! I have plenty of room here. Lot's of.....dirt. To be honest there's lots of bare dirt and sand on my little rented property but there's lots of room and a great place to set an old wreck right in front of that garage. I figure I'll strip down whatever I find and move the parts into the garage to work on til it's all ready to reassemble. This might just be a dream but that's my plan for now.

I'm trying out a little cafe in town this morning. I hope they make good, strong coffee. I hate weak coffee. I hope to meet at least one person to talk to at the cafe. The folks out here seem friendly and are quick with a smile and a "hello" but so far no one has bothered to introduce themselves or ask about this newcomer to the area. I hope I haven't made a mistake about Fort Davis. I always wanted to move out west and this is about as far west as I cared to go and still stay in Texas. I've already killed one rattlesnake in the yard and chased off a stray dog making a home in my garage. I don't like snakes....especially rattlesnakes. I get the willies just thinking about it. If I see another one I'm gonna wish I hadn't chased off that old mangy dog.

Sorry for this boring rambling. If you hadn't guessed, yes, I'm lonely. I'll let you know how my first trek to town works out.

Your old buddy, Bert

ps: I left this letter laying on the table when I went for breakfast. You won't believe this: When I walked out on the porch to leave I saw the biggest tarantula I've ever seen just sitting there grinning at me. I decided to turn around and leave by the back door. It was gone when I got home and now I'm worried it's inside the house and will crawl across my face sometime in the night. I may have chosen poorly when I chose to move to west Texas. Snakes and tarantulas already! Willies, willies!!!

B

I'll tell you now that Bert did stay in Fort Davis. He made friends with the family down the road, got a part time job at the hardware store, and struggled to keep the little old widow ladies at bay. If you want to read more of Bert's ramblings to Frank let me know. If not, I'll keep them to myself. Oh, and if you have any suggestions for Lou's direction in life I would love to hear them. Write me on the blog page or email.

Blowin' In The Wind...

 I'm sitting here in my nice warm house with my nice hot coffee while watching the wind work on removing the remaining leaves from my trees. The sound of the wind is what makes me nostalgic. When I was still in elementary school my dad was transferred to New Mexico to work on a "special project". I didn't know it was only a temporary move so I made the mistake of falling in love with my new state. What we were experiencing was magical to me. I found my home! It was magical for my mom too. She loved it so much she would sit and stare out the windows, cry, and wipe more dust off the window seals. It was wonderful! I would fall asleep at night listening to the wind. It was so peaceful. 

My brother, Glenn, and I embraced New Mexico for all it was worth. I'm not sure I ever saw my mom or three sisters step outside during our stay out there but Glenn and I loved it. It seems there were things provided by nature itself to entertain us. Our first excited find was what some called "tumbleweeds". We knew these were actually manna from heaven and we tried to collect every weed that rolled by. We wore ourselves out trying to catch them all before they got away. We needed a good place to store our collection of course so we used the garage daddy had so thoughtfully added to the plans of our new house. Glenn and I really appreciated that thoughtfulness and we used it daily. Our first use was on the first day daddy went to work...and we hadn't enrolled in the new school yet. We roamed the open spaces, found an alfalfa field close by for our new hiding place, collected tumbleweeds until the garage was so full we were afraid we might damage them if we forced any more in. Who knew how long this tumbleweed blessing might last?

Eventually we had to make that long and much dreaded trek to the new school. It was so far we thought we might need to pack a lunch even though my mom insisted it was less than a quarter-mile across an open field. She walked with us that first day...I guess to make sure we actually went. As much as I loved my new home, I hated my new school. I'm sure I've already bored you with that first day so just as a quick reminder: 1) My brand new shiny-headed crew cut was not the rage in Roswell, New Mexico; 2) I was sporting my new shoes which were off brand Hush Puppies...in olive green: there weren't enough desks in my classroom so I had to sit at the teacher's desk staring at a class of unfriendly faces looking back at me; 3) and of course, it was late enough in the school year that I had grown out of all my clothes. I was immediately branded "high water" because my jeans were so short my argyle socks were the predominate sight down there...no one even seemed to notice my green, off brand Hush Puppies until the newness of high water jeans grew old.

As I sit here remembering all of this I wonder why I get so nostalgic when the wind blows hard enough to hear. I still love the sound though and I still love thinking back on my short time in Roswell, New Mexico.